Stuck on You
by usakiwigirl
Summary: All he wanted was to spend a night in with Cath. An interruption in the form of Danny Williams and a tiny space at the end of his sofa just wasn't in the cards.
1. Stuck on You

Steve looked down at the tableau on his sofa with some trepidation, and not a small amount of confusion. Because really, what the actual fuck had happened? One minute, he'd been happily making out with Catherine – okay, his mind wasn't entirely on the task, because yeah, he really did want to see the end of the movie, but still, he was holding a warm, soft body in his arms, and the prospect of getting laid was near 100%. Now? Not so much.

Cath was curled up in the corner, Gracie cuddled tight against her body. Danny sat beside them both, leaving only a small space at the end of the sofa where he could sit. Next to Danny. Not Cath. Danny. And yeah, sure he'd sat on this very sofa beside Danny more times than he could count, but not like this. Not pressed together tighter than sardines in a can. Not when his body was already thrumming from a heightened state of arousal. And certainly not when there was more than one person on the sofa who had the ability to land him in the middle of a hormonal storm.

He loved Cath, truly, he did, but he knew it wasn't the real thing. It wasn't for all time. What they had was definitely a "friends-with-benefits" deal, in the truest possible sense of the term. He could say goodbye to her tomorrow – after a long, satisfying night in the sack, of course – and feel nothing more than missing his good friend. Well, that, and maybe missing the very good sex, too. What he felt towards Danny, however – well, that was different.

He didn't know if it was love. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It sure as hell felt a whole lot different from Catherine, though. He knew he couldn't say goodbye to Danny – not now, not tomorrow, not next week, and definitely not next year – without his heart drying up. So yeah, maybe it was love. Was he in love, though? He couldn't say. He'd never been in love, had nothing to compare it to. Danny made him sweat, made him curse, made him laugh, made him angry – in short, Danny made him happy.

Danny also made him hot. As in hot and bothered. Like Catherine, only without actually having to touch him. Catherine could get his heart racing, and his blood pounding, but it was always hands on. Yeah, she was beautiful – drop dead gorgeous, actually – but his heart didn't stutter in his chest when she walked in the room, like it did for Danny, and his skin didn't break out in goose bumps because she casually touched him on the shoulder, as it did for Danny. She was talented in bed, and she knew exactly what to do to bring him the most pleasure – just as he knew how to bring pleasure to her – but since meeting Danny, it was like there was just a little something missing. A spark, maybe. The tinder was dry, just waiting for the flame to land, but it kept missing the mark. He had a feeling that Danny was the match that would set the blaze alight.

As turned on as Steve was from his interrupted make-out session with Cath, the idea of sitting next to Danny just wasn't that appealing. No, that wasn't right. It was too appealing. It was about the most amazingly appealing thing ever. And it was definitely more appealing that watching that bloody Notebook movie. Chick flicks might make girls all mushy, but they did nothing for him. And he knew Danny well enough to know that it wasn't going to go over particularly well with him, either, especially in light of how his marriage imploded.

But he was tough. A SEAL. Trained to withstand all forms of torture. Well, nearly all forms. Pretty sure sexual frustration hadn't been part of the training regimen. He'd probably pass with flying colours these days, what with the continued interruptions to his sex life. Because this was what, twice now, that Danny had barged in on him and Cath? If he didn't know better – and he did, Danny didn't think of him in any other capacity than friend, he was sure of that – he'd wonder if the man wasn't waging some surreptitious war to sink his chances of ever having sex with Cath again. Or any woman, for that matter. Not that he was out trawling the bars and clubs of Hawaii looking to get laid, because he wasn't. He didn't have time for that shit, and that was where Cathy came in handy anyway. If he had an itch that needed scratching, she was more than happy to use her nails. And vice versa. He wasn't some chauvinistic pig, only looking out for himself. Catherine knew it was a two-way deal, a you-do-me and I'll-do-you type of thing.

Sitting next to Danny, though, would test all his skills. The man was always calling him a robot, telling him he was cursed with a stunted emotional outlook, or a complete inability to function with any type of human capacity. And that was wrong, just so wrong on all levels. He did feel, sometimes more than he thought was humanly possible. He'd just learned from one bad experience after another to keep it close to the vest, to not let it show. To not let it get the best of him. And yeah, maybe that's what Danny was referring to, that keeping it all bottled inside thing. Danny didn't do that. He showed everything. Every hurt, every joy, every speck of frustration that passed through his body showed on his face, in his stance, in the eloquent wave of his hands.

Right now, for instance, he looked content. Content, and happy, and curious. Content because yeah, that sofa was comfortable, and he was holding a very large bowl of popcorn. Happy, because Gracie had made up for her mistake on Halloween, had filled the hole she'd made in her Dad's heart, by dressing up and giving him just one more piece of her childhood to hold onto. Curious, because Steve was still staring at the sofa in consternation.

Well, nothing for it, really. Man up, and sit down. Next to Danny. Yeah. In that tight little space. Uh huh. And so what if that meant he had to press a little closer than propriety would normally allow. Four bodies on one sofa, three of them adult, meant for tight quarters. And Danny was smaller than him, so it was natural to put his arm around his shoulders, and pull Danny's head down. He had to do that to be comfortable. It was perfectly reasonable. It allowed him to speak quietly into Danny's ear. So what if it also gave him the chance to breathe in the clean scent of Danny's hair, or to feel his hard body. A man had to take his opportunities when they were presented.

Yeah, if this was all he was going to get – because really, realistically, what else could he expect – then he was going to enjoy this time as much as possible. Make the most of every second. He could do this.

And he was never, _never_, going to question his luck again. He might not be getting off this fine evening, but he was more content than he'd been in many a long year. And for that, he knew he had Danny to thank. And somehow, he would, and he'd do it for the rest of his life.


	2. Stuck To You

_I'm no longer an H50 virgin, what with this being a follow-up to my first dip into these murky waters, Stuck on You. And damn, but Danny is a tough bastard to get a handle on, even without dialogue. It's not really a chaptered story, but in the interest of keeping it all together, that's how I'm posting it._

* * *

Normally, it bothers Danny to interrupt a cozy scene such as this one between Steve and Catherine. It's obvious that given a few more minutes – okay, maybe more than a few minutes in Steve's case, but definitely only a few for Cath – of peace and quiet, and a little heavy petting, the movie will be forgotten. Clothes will be removed, sweat will form, and bodies will writhe. It is only going to take longer for Steve, because clearly he is more interested in the end of the movie, rather than Cath. And Danny can't really figure that one out; seriously, Cath is hot, there is no doubt about it. Steve should be all over that. But apparently, a scary movie holds more appeal. Go figure. Smooth Dog must have maybe pulled the same trick one too many times, and curiosity is finally catching up with him.

Danny would be content to let him have his night, however it is going to end – either in the sack with Catherine, or on the couch screaming like a girl at a Hollywood B-grade schlock-fest bloodbath. He doesn't care – normally. Only this particular night, he does. He needs to be here, to see Steve, to bring Grace around, to settle his nerves, to wind down after an all-time bitch of a week. He shouldn't, he knows that, but there it is, the plain truth. Gracie, his baby, ripped a hole in his heart, not wanting to trick-or-treat with him, and nothing is going to make him feel better but to bring his little bumble-bee Monkey around to Steve's to help fill in the gaps.

Strangely, he suspects Cath's hand in this somewhere. As sweet and lovable as his little girl is, she's too young to think of something like this, something so complex yet at the same time so simple it almost hurts to contemplate. Really, it shouldn't even be a blip on his parental radar, but this is flashing all the colours of the rainbow. Grace is smart, and perceptive, and the most loving little girl in the world, but she is still only ten. Dressing up again and redoing Halloween just to make her Danno feel better, because of something she'd done – well, that is a grown-up concept. Yeah, he smells Cath's hand in this, and he is more than okay with that. And that is another reason he doesn't mind barging in on Steve and Catherine – Grace is dropping hints broader than the side of a frigate berthed at Pearl that she wants to talk to Cath.

Still, he isn't exactly expecting Catherine to just scrunch up into the corner of the couch and pull Gracie into her side, nor is he thinking she will stop the movie she and Steve are watching. If this was him, he'd be putting up a little bit more of a fight. Steve is a catch, and with that hard SEAL body, and all those muscles, he must to be something fierce in bed. He isn't complaining, though, oh hell no, because ino/i. No way. No way in all the fires of hell is he letting Grace see that shit. The movie, not the making out, although he'd not allow that either. No. He'd put a hole through Steve's nice flat screen TV first. And Steve can pull all the constipated faces he wants, it still isn't happening. And really, what the fuck is Steve's problem, anyway? The barge that sails to the land of orgasm heaven left long before he rang the doorbell. Steve isn't fooling anybody. He might have thought – possibly still thinks – maybe at the beginning of the night, that he was going to reach his happy target, but Cath clearly thinks otherwise. Why else would she sit up so quickly, and be so willing to put on a different movie?

Still, all this doesn't explain why Steve is just standing there like a pole-axed cow. Yeah, Steve's night is interrupted, but so what? Suck it up, and be a man. A SEAL, for fuck's sake. His best friend. Sit down beside him on this very comfortable couch and help him feel better. That's what friends do for each other, right? They help; they are wing-men, they are back-up, they help each other up off the ground, they sit next to each other on couch's that aren't made for four and deal, and _oh_. Maybe they don't want to sit next to their friend so closely. Maybe they are stupid homophobic fucks who think it would make them gay to sit too close to another man. Stupid super-SEAL. As if he'd ever do that to Steve. Never even crossed his mind. Except for now, but that doesn't count, not really. It's just in passing, and only because he is reasoning out Steve's reluctance to sit the fuck down, already.

Seriously, he'd be insulted if he had ever thought of Steve as anything other than a friend, which he hadn't. Okay, well, he had, but he'd squashed that thought the second it popped its ugly little face into his head. He didn't need the distraction of thinking his partner was hot, and just what he'd like to do to him and with him. He had plenty of other distractions thanks to said partner, such as bullets, and explosions and stupid life-endangering heroics to deal with. So he notices Steve's hard body, and those muscles – so what? And the tattoos – he doesn't dream about licking a path along the outline of each, tracing each one out with his tongue, he most certainly does not. No, because he beat that idea into submission, and no, no, no, he did not use his hand.

He doesn't smell, he even showered before he brought Grace around, and no, _not_ for Steve, but because it was a long fucking week, and he just wanted to wash the stench of the case off his body. Literally. Ritual killing? Nasty business. And hell, he even shaved – a little, sort of – and put aftershave on, and washed his hair. He did it for Grace, she hates the wild man of the bush look. Says it is hard to hug, or give him a kiss, and he isn't going to think about testing that theory with Steve. So no, he can't figure out why Steve is so reluctant to sit down next to him.

So yeah, he notices that Steve's body is one giant mass of muscle. So fucking what? It's hard not to, what with the fact that the man can barely keep his shirt on for more than half a day, sometimes not even that long. And he is ridiculously insane about taking care of himself, as well – yeah, there is the health food, and the stinky protein shakes, and who can live off that crap, because, _ew, wrong_. That shit is nasty. But there is also the pulling his pants down in front of his own partner – his male partner, and what the fuck is up with that? Because if he is trying to torture Danny in some bizarre, twisted psychological attack, he is succeeding. So in that particular case it was to stick a needle in his ass so he didn't get tetanus. Again, so what? That's what hospitals, or doctors are for.

Calling him a girl just because he didn't want to see it happen wasn't really fair. Part of him did want to see the needle go in, just to be sure that Steve did, in fact, actually have the fucking shot. He just didn't want to examine too closely the small part of him that admired the curve of Steve's ass as it was bared by the idiot dropping his pants, not right then, especially not as said ass was bared right in front of him. The ass that is finally sitting down beside him. Even as Steve's face looks as if he is about to have an aneurysm. Or is in the active stages of said aneurysm. It doesn't matter, the man is finally seated. Against him. Tight against him. He did not actually think this out too well. Steve is pressed up against him from knee to shoulder, and yeah, it is nothing like Grace on his other side. Nor is it anything like having Rachel or Gabby, or any of the half-dozen or so other women who have been in his life over the years, curled up next to him.

Those women have always been the ones he'd put his arm around, but Steve is the bigger person here, quite literally. Danny isn't used to having someone put their arm around his shoulders, and pull him in tight, and it takes a split second to remind his body that it doesn't need to tense up, because this is Steve, his best friend, his partner. And then it takes another split second to tell his body not to do _that_, not to get hot, not to get sweaty – he has to remind his lungs to pull in air, that oxygen is necessary, and hey, since when did he have to do that around Steve? Friend, remember? Not crush, not wannabe lover, just friend, even if there is that small part of him that wishes otherwise.

Only all of a sudden, he is more than glad to have that big bowl of popcorn on his lap, to hide the boner he knows he shouldn't have. And all because Steve leans over and whispers in his ear, tells him how much he is going to hate the new movie Cath and Gracie are so looking forward to watching. And he doesn't care about the movie, because Steve is breathing hot, moist air on his neck as he leans over to get more popcorn, and iJesus!/i is he smelling his hair? Christ, he is. He _is_ smelling his hair, he can feel his hair ruffling and yeah, that is Steve's nose pressing against his scalp. Wow, that shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is.

But even though it is hot, and it's just about the best he's felt since long before his marriage imploded, he's not going to let himself fall into the trap of thinking it's anything more than an accident. Because it has to be. It can't be anything else. Steve is straight. He's his best friend, and he's fucking straight, and that's as far as it goes. So he will just sit here and enjoy having Steve's arm around his shoulders, and if he maybe leans his head against Steve's chest, who cares, because it's been that all-time bitch hell week, and he's fucking tired, okay, and Steve's comfortable.

And as the movie starts, and he settles in, he tucks this memory away with all his other precious Steve memories, to be brought out and treasured when times are rough, or he's feeling especially lonely, because right this moment, he feels more loved and cared for than he can remember.


End file.
